


Ship Maintenance

by pervyfangirl



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, First Time, Frottage, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tumblr Prompt, Vaginal Fingering, X-Wing(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:04:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pervyfangirl/pseuds/pervyfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>X-wings take a lot of work, especially in the cold climate on Hoth. But pilots will always find some inventive ways to stay warm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ship Maintenance

**Author's Note:**

> Got an anon prompt on Tumblr for X-wing sex, and I mean, YES OF COURSE. Who hasn't thought about that? ;)

Hoth is cold and dull and everybody is getting antsy. Missions are suspended, except for long, cold circuits on tauntauns to check the planet for life. The rest of the time is downtime, and X-wing pilots don’t do well with too much downtime. You suspect that most of the patrols are busy work to keep the various fighter squadrons from spending all their time getting drunk and into fights. And screwing. The hookups on Hoth have been legendary. You’ve lost track of who’s supposedly slept with whom.

You’re not completely immune. Hoth is cold, after all, and the best way to keep from freezing is to share body heat. The problem is, there’s just one person on Hoth base that you’d love to share some body heat with, and he doesn’t seem interested. And it doesn’t seem fair to any of your potential partners that you keep making comparisons, so… you find other ways to keep busy.

There’s only so much time you can spend checking on your ship, and you’ve probably reached your limit. Your T-65B is in the best condition it’s ever been, between being grounded and you spending so much time making little fixes—all the things you never had time for before now. 

But, on nights like this, when you can’t sleep, there’s nothing else for it but to come check on your baby. Some nights you’re not alone in the hangar bay—another pilot, also troubled by too many thoughts of people who didn’t come back, too many thoughts of times _you_ almost didn’t come back—but some nights, like tonight, everything is dark and quiet.

There’s a short in the electrical system you’ve been meaning to check out. You haven’t quite been able to track it down yet, and the diagnostics have been no help, but you know it’s there, like an itch you can’t reach. You grab your tools and the diagnostic readouts again, and crack open the maintenance panel. 

You lose track of time, poking around and checking the electrical connections, as relaxed as you ever are these days, your body half tucked inside the inner workings of your ship. 

“Don’t you have a patrol first thing in the morning?” The voice behind you is soft, but still startles three years off your life. Your body jerks, your head cracking hard against the casing.

“Ow! What’s the big idea, sneaking up on—oh.” You turn to see Luke Skywalker standing there, his hair rumpled with sleep (or maybe with tossing and turning, given that he’s here), wearing the same off-duty makeshift layers of fleece and knitwear that everybody else wears around here to try and keep warm. “ Sorry, Commander Skywalker.”

“No, I’m sorry. And this time of night, I’m not commander anything.” He flashes a sheepish smile and yep—there he is, the reason nobody else on this base measures up. 

“You’re very quiet, did you know that?” You finish wriggling out the innards of your ship, hauling down your three shirts where they’d rucked up. At the last second, you catch Luke’s eyes on you, watching you cover the flash of bare skin around your middle. His ears are pink. 

“I should’ve said something sooner.” He leans over and peeks into your tool bin. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Nah. You either?” You’re suddenly conscious of the grease grimed into your knuckles, and shove your hands into your pants pockets, attempting a casual lean against the ladder to your ship.

Luke shrugs, still examining your tools. “You’re here a lot. What are you working on?”

“Electrical short. Nothing major. Just… what else is there to do?”

He looks up, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re getting tired of the endless party too, huh?”

“I mean, it’s not exactly what I signed up for.” Your eyes meet his, and his smile widens, sending a small flash of warmth through you.

“What, did you miss that in the recruiting holo? ‘Travel to exotic worlds, and drink with strangers to dull the boredom.’”

“Hey, nobody’s strangers anymore.” You grin back at him, starting to finally relax a little. This is the longest the two of you have talked without someone coming along to interrupt. 

Luke snorts. “That’s one way to describe what goes on around here.”

You feel your cheeks getting hot. True, you haven’t heard any rumors about who he’s warming up with, but there must be someone. 

Luke mistakes the reason for your blush. “Come on, you had to know. Haven’t you ever rounded a corner and gotten an eyeful by mistake?”

“Unlike some people, I’ve learned to make noise when I walk.” You’re sitting on the line between teasing and flirting, curious how he’ll react. 

His smile is like a flash of light. “I wasn’t expecting to get an eyeful.”

“Yeah, just one tired pilot and her tired ship, sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.” Luke steps a little closer, his eyes moving from your face to your scalp. “Is your head okay? You cracked it pretty hard there.”

You tentatively touch the spot you smacked, wincing at the lump rising there. His hand follows yours, resting against your hair. “I’m really sorry,” he says again. “We should probably get some ice on that.”

You laugh, resisting the urge to lean against his hand. “If only I knew where to find some ice on this planet.” He laughs with you. “I’ll be okay. I have a hard head.”

Luke draws his hand away—reluctantly, you think. “If you’re sure. Hate to have one of our best pilots on the injury list because of me.”

“Well fortunately, it’s just me, so you’re safe.” You can feel your ears burning.

“Oh, don’t play coy. Pilots aren’t supposed to be modest. Especially not the good ones.” He folds his arms and leans beside you on the ladder, less than half a meter separating you. “Don’t think I didn’t try to steal you for Rogue Squadron.”

“Me? Seriously?” You’ve barely been with the Alliance a year, after literally jumping ship from the Imperial Navy. 

He nods. “Kinda glad I didn’t right now though.” 

“Why, don’t need a jumpy insomniac pilot on your team?”

“Yeah, cause Rogue Squadron are such a bunch of well-adjusted, well-behaved folks,” Luke says dryly. 

You can’t help but smile at that, because yeah, the Rogues are pretty notorious for fighting hard and celebrating harder. Except their leader, who’s still a bit of a mystery. “Then why’d you change your mind about me?” you ask.

His eyes dart away from yours, then back. “Let’s just say I’m glad I’m not in your chain of command right about now.”

It takes you a second to catch on. Oh. _Oh._ Screw what he said about not playing coy, you’re about to play coy for all you’re worth. “I’m not that difficult, am I?” You manage to resist batting your eyelashes, but it’s a near thing. 

Luke laughs quietly. “I don’t know, you might be pretty difficult.”

“But worth it,” and this time your eyelashes might flutter just a little bit. A giddy sense of abandon threatens to bubble up through you. You’re not talking about your piloting skills anymore, if you ever were.

“Now you sound like a pilot,” he says approvingly. His eyes linger on yours, long enough that you wonder if one of you is about to make a first move. Your heart starts to pound… but then he looks away. “You wanna see if we can chase down that electrical short?”

A little confused, a little disappointed, you nod. “Yeah, sure.” You pick up the readouts and hand them over, explaining what you’ve already checked. Before long, the two of you are elbows deep in your ship.

Luke’s something of a miracle worker, and he finds the short that you’ve been struggling with for days in a matter of an hour. By the time you’re done fixing it, both of you are yawning and the daytime lights on the base are starting to come up. You’ve got just enough time for a short nap before your patrol, so you leave him, a little perplexed at what just happened.

The next time you see him is in the mess over dinner. He beckons you over to join the group of pilots, so you go. Inevitably, the conversation turns to boasts, the boasts getting more and more off-color as the meal goes on, until your sides ache with laughter. The pilots with night shift duty drift away, while the others—and you with them—wind up in the favored corner of hangar where the parties always start, tucked away from public view.

You keep an eye on Luke as he joins in the joking and laughing, but doesn’t drink. He winds his way to your side and sits next to you. “I’m glad you came with us. Half figured I’d find you working on your ship again.”

“I’m running out of things to fix,” you admit. “You helped me with the last thing I’d been wrestling with.”

“Well maybe you can help me,” Luke leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “I’m trying to make some improvements on my ship and I could use an extra hand.”

“Sure, just let me know when.”

“Right now?” He stands up and offers you a hand. 

Why not, you think. Neither of you seems interested in the party, so you may as well. A few hoots follow you as you leave the party together, and you duck your head to hide the blush. “Well, my reputation just got a boost,” you joke.

“Or mine did.” He grins over at you. “You’re notoriously reserved, you know. Or so the stories say.”

“You should know better than to listen to pilot gossip,” you say. His ship is down at the far end of the hangar, around a corner in a bay shared by only a handful of the other commanders. It’s a long walk. “Besides, it’s not that I’m reserved, I’m just particular who I spend my time with.”

“In that case, I’m flattered.”

You’re tempted to tell him that he should be, that he’s the one you’ve been eyeing all this time, but you keep quiet. Instead you just smile. Although his invitation seemed innocent enough, there’s still a flutter in your belly. You haven’t forgotten the moment by your ship, when you were sure he was about to kiss you. 

“Climb up in there, can you?” Luke says as you reach his ship. “I need you to give me some readings.”

The canopy’s already back so you hoist yourself up the ladder and into the cockpit of probably the most famous X-wing in the whole rebel fleet. The little thrill is undeniable: you’re sitting in the ship that destroyed the Death Star. 

Luke instructs you to start the process of warming up the engines, and you call down numbers to him from the readouts. Each one makes him frown a little more. “Damn.” He crawls up the ladder and leans into the cockpit to look. You’re acutely aware of how close he is, can feel warmth radiating from him, smell the clean scent of his hair. 

“What are you trying to do?” you ask. “Can I help?”

“I’ve added some boosters to the engines to see about a speed increase.” He’s focused on the dials and monitors in the cockpit. “In theory, it’ll burn through fuel faster, but if it works…”

“Wait, in theory? Haven’t you tested it?”

He glances back at you and grins, the sort of sheepish, ‘you caught me’ grin. “Not yet?”

“When were you _planning_ on testing it? Surely not the next time we get scrambled.” The recklessness is enough to take your breath away, and you’re not sure if it’s in a good way or a bad way.

“Hopefully before then?” He leans against the side of the cockpit, turning to look at you directly. “I figure, if something goes wrong, I probably have a better chance than average of pulling out of it.”

He’s not _wrong_ , but… you shake your head, your eyes wide. “That’s… I don’t know if that’s crazy or brilliant.”

Luke laughs. “Hopefully it’s a little of both.”

“I see your reputation isn’t entirely unearned,” you tease.

“And what exactly is my reputation?” He rests his chin on his hand, still halfway into the cockpit. 

You give him a darting, sideways glance, fighting the smile that wants to form. “That you’re reckless. You take chances other people won’t. That you enjoy it.” 

His eyes are on your face, you can feel his gaze. When he speaks, his voice is softer, and not far from your ear. “Is that what they say?”

Your heart hammers in your chest. There isn’t a lot of room to maneuver in the cockpit, it’s almost like being held in place. Even if you wanted to, there’s nowhere you could go—but you don’t want to. Slowly, you lift your head to face him. “Yeah.”

“What about you? You’re a pilot. How reckless are you?” He’s still watching you, and you don’t miss the way his gaze dips to your mouth.

“You could find out.”

He must recognize an invitation when he hears it. Luke closes the distance between you slowly, a slight smile reflected more in his eyes than his mouth, until finally his lips reach yours. It’s a slow, sweet kiss, and when it’s done, he pulls you to your feet. At first you think he’s going to help you out of the cockpit, but instead he slips into the tiny space behind you, stealing the pilot’s seat and pulling you into his lap. 

“How reckless?” he repeats, his lips against your ear. You half-turn, just enough to reach his mouth. His body is pressed against your back and his arms snug around your waist. The kiss is slow, burning torture, but the crick in your neck eventually makes you stop. 

Your answer is to turn in his arms so you’re facing him, barely enough room for your knees to fit to either side of his hips in the pilot’s seat. It’s not the most comfortable position, but the kissing is better, so much better. His hands slide through your hair while he coaxes your tongue into his mouth. Each slick caress resonates through your body, tightening in your belly. 

“Reckless enough?” you murmur, and he laughs. He locks his arms around your waist while you perch above him, bracing your hands against the seat. 

“You know, I really didn’t plan for this when I asked for your help.” Luke nuzzles at your neck, first with his nose, his lips following.

“Does it look like I mind?” The words come out breathless as the tip of his tongue trails up your neck.

“No, but your knees have to hurt by now.” He gives you a short kiss, his hands roaming restlessly up your back. “I have an idea. Turn around again. Sit in my lap.”

“But then I can’t really kiss you.”

“I can kiss you, though.” There’s something in his eyes, something that suggests he’s got more than kissing on his mind. The possibilities shiver through you, and you do as he says, settling back against his body, molding against him in the pilot’s seat. 

Luke’s mouth finds your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “And I can touch you, if you want me to. Do you want me to?” One of his hands splays against your belly, lightly resting there. Leaning back against him the way you are, you feel open, exposed, and the vulnerability tingles down your spine. 

“Yes.” And oh, you do, you do.

He whispers your name, a tickle in your ear. “You’re so beautiful. I’ve thought about this so many times…”

The import of his words slams home in your chest. “Me? You thought about me?”

“I’m so bad at flirting, I had no idea how to talk to you. I never dreamed you’d be here, like this…” He tilts your head so it lies back against his, his mouth tracing hot, wet shapes over the skin of your neck. His hands start to roam slowly, brushing down the length of your arm, circling just around your stomach, running down the outside of your thighs. It’s relaxing and exciting at the same time, the firm pressure of his hands smoothing over your muscles, while his lips and tongue and teeth tease soft sounds of pleasure out of you. Your body melts against his bonelessly. 

You can turn just enough to give him short kisses, and you rest your hands on his forearms, feeling the movement of the muscle there. Every now and then, you feel a twitch beneath your ass, the fabric between the two of you just thin enough that you can feel as he grows more and more aroused.

One of Luke’s hands slowly inches up your belly, dragging so slow you start to squirm against him. His quiet gasp is delicious, so you do it again, slower, shifting your hips against him until his hand reaches your breast, cupping it gently. His thumb brushes over your nipple, sending a spiral of heat down through your body. You whimper, covering his hand with yours, arching into his touch. 

“Oh, you like that, do you?” He sounds amused. He licks your earlobe and murmurs, “I want to find out what else you like.” He sets about to find out. You can’t resist untucking your shirt as a hint, giving him access to reach your bare skin—a hint he readily follows up on, and soon both his hands are greedily exploring your breasts, stroking, pinching lightly, teasing you until you’re dizzy with it. You bite your lips to stay quiet—any sound louder than a gasp will echo in the vast space around you.

The air in the hangar is cold, but in the small space of the cockpit it’s warmer, even with the canopy open. But still, as he exposes more of your skin to the open air, you start to shiver. 

“Cold?” he asks, and when you nod, only then does he close the canopy, the transparisteel sliding shut overhead, blocking out the outside world. Almost immediately, your combined body heat makes the cockpit warmer, and Luke rucks up your shirt to expose you completely. He groans softly, and you realize he’s watching his hands against your skin. Knowing that he’s watching you now, you writhe against him, undulating your hips against the hard, insistent shape of his cock, rubbing against it until he groans even louder. He lets go of your breasts to grab your hips in both hands, stilling you. 

“You don’t like that?” you tease.

“I like that a little too much.” He presses his burning cheek to yours. “Tell me where I can touch you.”

“Gods,” the word escapes you on a long exhale. “Anywhere. Everywhere. Please don’t stop touching me.”

You realize what he was really asking when his hand slides down your thigh, then slowly, achingly slowly, sliding back up between your legs until he’s cupping your mound through your clothes. 

“Yes, there,” you gasp, feeling your racing pulse even there beneath his touch. You relax and part your thighs, spreading them as wide as you can in the confines of the closed cockpit. Luke breathes a soft curse in response, his fingers curling against your heat. The almost-friction of his fingers is maddening, nowhere near enough to satisfy, but enough that you’re panting with need. His voice is a soft, encouraging murmur against your ear.

Just before you can beg him to do so, Luke unfastens your pants and slips his hand inside them. The touch of his fingers against your bare skin makes you cry out and he breathes your name, pressing his mouth to your neck. 

“Lift up,” he says, and when you do, he pulls your pants down to your knees, wriggles his own down as well, so when you settle against him again, the hot, hard shape of his cock presses against your cheeks, slipping slightly between your thighs. The angle and lack of space makes any sort of penetration impossible, but from the way he moans, he doesn’t mind. 

Luke gathers you back against him, sliding his hand between your legs again, fingers seeking out the wettest, most sensitive parts of you. The two of you fall into a steady rhythm, his hips thrusting against yours, his cock rubbing between your thighs while his fingers dip inside you, circle your clit. You want more, you need more, but you also don’t want to stop what you’re doing. Especially not with the low stream of words pouring from Luke’s mouth into your ear: how good you feel, how wet you are for him. You had no idea he’d be such a talker, and it’s intoxicating.

A frantic sort of pleasure builds low in your gut, making you gasp. Your movements more urgent, his fingers more insistent, you flail, your hands gripping at the console of the ship as if you’re going to fly to pieces. One of your hands smacks against the canopy, now translucent with the steam from your breath and your bodies.

“That’s it,” Luke whispers. “Let go, let me feel you let go.”

It’s blindingly good, the pleasure that bursts through you. You arch against his hand, needing more and he gives you more, teasing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re left limp and drained against his body. He wraps his free arm around you and holds you close, although you can feel how aroused he still is. When he finally pulls his hand away from you, he brings it to his mouth, tasting you on his fingers with a shudder and a broken little groan that nearly does you in. 

“Come back to my quarters?” he says, breathless. “More room there.”

You laugh softly. “Yes, as soon as my legs stop shaking.”

He helps you get dressed again, and pulls you back into his arms, waiting for you to recover. It’s going to be a long, cold walk back to his quarters, but the promise of what awaits you there makes every frigid moment worth it.


End file.
